Thanks for being awesomely reaffirming in my decision to remain vague. It means a lot. I love you readers! Shout outs to reviewers:

Almightyswot: only time will tell. Dundunduunnn...

Guest: lol, here's a new chapter!

Lxmo1019: aw thanks. I'm glad I can be of service. And yes...yes he is. I would say 'drop dead sexy' is a more accurate description, but cute works too. Lol.

Juze: yes Samantha is living. Keep reading, I promise you will eventually get answers. Thanks for reviewing, as always.

Compositionc: lol yea, I'll be honest, it kinda gave me chills after I read it over again. I'm glad you're sticking through though. Thanks!

Vpayne: ooh! Psych major! Please don't misdiagnose me, I swear I'm only mildly insane. Lol. Thank you for theorizing. You can share if you want. I am open to hearing them! : D

Nosside: lol...awesome review. Thank you.

Flyaway213: ooh...that sounds 'not so good.' Okay then, I am very glad I decided against giving more detail.

Magicstrikes: thanks!

Once again, I don't own the people, characters, or BBC. Meh.

Chapter Seven

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Lestrade had phoned in a sketch artist to draw a picture of the man. They returned to the train station to speak with the ticket clerk. He described the man to the artist, who scribbled away at the pad of paper. After a few minutes of refining, she showed the sketch to the older gentleman. He nodded his head.

''Yea, yea he looked just like that!" The man said, his head continually nodding. They thanked the man for his time. Outside the station, Sherlock paced wildly. His hands were held up in a praying position, as he committed the image to memory.

''He's becoming more aggressive.'' He stated after a moment. John looked at him curiously. Sherlock continued.

''His first incident was two weeks ago, and he took another girl the week after that. He took Samantha Gaines just days after, and not even 48 hours later, he took Molly. He is increasing his timeline.'' John nodded in understanding. John knew the underlying implications. If this man was shortening the time between taking the girls, it also meant he was shortening the time before he killed them.

He glanced to Sherlock, who seemed to have been thinking the same thing. His face was set in a stern glare as he stared at nothing in general.

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Molly sat in her cage consoling a trembling Samantha as best as she could. The girl sobbed softly, hugging herself tightly with her freed arms. Molly hushed her, murmuring soft words of sweetness to her.

''Shshsh, it's okay. It'll be okay, Samantha. My friend is going to find us, it'll be alright. We'll get you home to your parents, and everything will be fine.'' She whispered from between the bars of the cage. Samantha nodded between tears, trying to calm her shattered nerves. The two young women sat in their small cages, each leaning against the bars, thinking. Samantha, of home, her parents, and friends. Molly, of what was mentally wrong with their captor, how she could get them both out, and Sherlock. 'Please come soon, Sherlock.' She thought.

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They had posted pictures in virtually every business and on every street corner of the sketch of the man. They asked several local business owners if the man looked familiar, they had all said no. They had taken a break, and were now sitting outside in the park, when an older woman approached them.

''Excuse me, are you Mr. Holmes?" She asked quietly. His head perked up, analyzing at her. '64 years of age, widowed for almost seven years. No children to speak of, not any friends either. Pulmonary heart issues, diagnosed with only a year to live.' He smiled shortly, before answering her with a yes.

''I saw that picture. The wanted sign, hanging in the window at the postal office. I, I think I know who you're looking for.'' She spoke nervously, wringing her hands together. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade all looked at her. Sherlock was the first to move. He briskly stood, grabbing the woman around her shoulders. She gasped a little as he took her into his arms.

''Who is he? Where is he? Tell me everything you know about him! Time is of the essence, madame!" He said, slightly shaking her. John put a hand on Sherlock's arm, bringing his attention to him. He gave him a look, and Sherlock released his grip on the woman. She sat down on the bench next to Lestrade, and began to speak.

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The man had disappeared for a few hours, and Molly had noticed the large wooden box was no longer at the work station. She slowly realized what it meant. Her heart sank, knowing she hadn't been able to help another missing girl. She looked over to the cage opposite her. Samantha had fallen asleep after crying herself into exhaustion. Molly had stretched her legs out in front of her body, trying to relieve some of the tension. Her arms ached with dull pressure, having been contorted far past the stages of pain. Her fingertips were numb and tingled. She tilted her head back, taking deep breaths. The metal doors creaked as they opened, and Molly's eyes darted to see the large man enter the room. His hands and arms were covered in soil, and he rubbed sweat from his brow as he placed a large shovel back on the hook in the wall. He looked over to catch her gaze, and smiled at her with dull, glossy eyes. Molly's heart raced as he approached her cell.

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''His name is Clay. Clay Wesley. I was friends with his folks. Poor man, he's had it rough. His parents died when he was young, car crash. He moved to live with his uncle and aunt, also some of my friends. House fire got them a few years later. He sort of became a recluse after that. Didn't do much. I'd check up on him out there every so often. He read all sorts of stories, most of them were those scary stories. Ghost tales, blood and guts. His favorite was Poe.'' The woman explained to the men who stood in front of her. She continued on.

''There was one time when I had brought him into town with me. He met this nice young lady, sweet thing really. Anna. She was so nice to Clay, he was smitten. He had asked her out, and she had said yes. I suppose it was a summer sweethearts type of thing, because by that August, she was gone. Moved away without so much as a goodbye. Clay was devastated. He wouldn't leave the house, wouldn't let anyone in. He just, hid from the world. All alone in that farmhouse. I don't see him much, but I suspect he's probably still there. Mr. Holmes, has Clay got into some sort of trouble?" She finished her story, and asked the question, looking up to see Sherlock's face, deadpanned.

''Yes, madame, he has. Tell me, where is this farmhouse you mentioned?" He spoke with an unguarded tone. He was harshly honest, but it was nothing new. She sighed slightly, and answered.

''His parent's old farmhouse. He moved into it after the fire at his aunt and uncle's. Not too far away, in fact, if you take that road out, you'll pass it, just before Catherington.'' She said, pointing down the road adjacent to the park. Lestrade stood to join the other two, and nodded at the old woman.

''Thank you, ma'am. You've been most helpful.'' He said before turning to walk with Sherlock and John toward the car. John and Lestrade spoke to each other about devising a plan, while Sherlock strode next to them silently. He, too, was mapping out a plan. He only hoped that it would work.

'Hang on, Molly. I will find you.'

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Yay! Sherlock to the rescue! Hopefully. Anyway, hope you are still enjoying the story, please read and review. Thanks so much for all the support! It means a lot to me! See you next chapter!